


Sidewalk Angels Echo Hallelujah

by Waynesgrayson



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas, Dark!Matt, First Kiss, Fluff, Journalist!Foggy, Journalist!Karen, M/M, Mild Gore, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 10:19:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4621620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waynesgrayson/pseuds/Waynesgrayson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Then the Devil raises an arm above their heads, and curious, Foggy follows the movement. He lets out a startled laugh when he looks up and sees what the Devil is holding.</p><p>“Mistletoe.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sidewalk Angels Echo Hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank you guys for the amount of love I received on my last Daredevil fic. I am honestly so blown away by the response. Thank you so so much you guys!
> 
> This fic almost killed me. I had my outline and what I wanted and then it just got away from me. I cried, no joke. But I hope you guys enjoy this, even if it is a mess.
> 
> Title taken from: A Merry New York Christmas by Rob Thomas

“Oh, Mr. Nelson...could I trouble you for an autograph?”

Foggy turns around in time to watch the Devil step out of the shadows. His signature grin on his face and yesterday's newspaper is held in his grip.

Foggy takes a second to look over the man, seeing if there are any new injuries since they last time they spoke. It became habit after the Devil showed up with several injuries of varying levels of ugliness at almost every single one of their meetings. It's more of a precaution, really. Just because the Devil doesn't pose a threat while they talk, doesn't mean things won't be different one day. For whatever reason, Foggy seems to think that he'll know that day by judging the extent of gore on the mans clothing.

He doesn't find any blood or tears in the fabric, but apparently the cold weather they've been having has no effect on the Devil. The man is still sporting his usual wear. Seeing him so poorly dressed makes Foggy shiver. He folds his arms over his chest in an attempt to bring himself some warmth.

Foggy lets out a sigh.

For roughly two years now, the masked vigilante known to Hell's Kitchen as 'The Devil', has been running rampant through the streets and causing just about every definition of trouble in the book. And for the last year and a half, has made his presence abundantly clear in Foggy's life. Turning up at seemingly random moments, but Foggy knows that he constructs just to piss him off.

In reality, if he only counted the harm the Devil has caused him, Foggy doesn't have any real reason to hate the man. Considering he's never laid a ill intended hand on Foggy before. But this isn't about him. This is about all those other people caught in the cross-fire. Wrong place, wrong time, and with no warning that they just spent their last seconds on earth. The last thing they ever see being the devil himself.

So, if he took into account all those other lives lost to the mans destruction, he has every reason to.

He's a killer; a psychopath who takes extreme pleasure in the torture and death of those around him. He thrives on the destruction and take down of the intricate underlining of Hell's Kitchen, no matter who happens to fall because of his actions. He's a man to be feared by all New York.

Though in his defence, as far as Foggy knows – and really, he only has the Devil's word and the Lord knows that can't mean much – the man doesn't kill the innocent. Or, at least, doesn't mean to.

What Foggy would like to know, is how the Devil decides who's innocent and who isn't. Especially since the man isn't exactly know for his patience.

But ever since the night they met (the Devil taking it upon himself to aquatint the two by dropping from seemingly nowhere and into Foggy's path as he walked home, nearly giving him a heart attack) the Devil has been nothing but, for lack of a better word...kind towards Foggy. Though when he thinks about the word kind in context to the Devil, Foggy ends up feeling a cocktail of feelings he's not ready to think about.

These feelings having confused Foggy since just about day one.

“Your story made the front page, again.” The Devil's voice dips at the last word and his tone of voice proud, as if he expected nothing less.

The Devil waves the paper as he slowly walks closer. It's a walk that tells the other person to run as fast as they can while they can, but Foggy doesn't. Currently he has no reason to. So he stands and waits for the Devil to reach where he is.

Foggy shrugs. “Technically my office did. I'm not the only one who worked on the story. Karen did all the field work.” and it wasn't so much field work, but dirty work. Karen Page is one of the sweetest people Foggy has ever had the fortune of meeting. But give her a purpose and a torch and she'll burn half the town down looking for truth. Her determination and want for the truth is something Foggy admires every single day.

The Devil nods, his smile falling a little. “Ah yes, Miss Page. I admire her perseverance, but please warn her away from the docks. She really shouldn't be out there all alone. Especially when it's so late and cold out.”

Foggy raises an eyebrow. “But she wasn't alone. You're always there.”

“I didn't think you'd mind. I assumed you liked Miss. Page and Mr. Urich alive.”

Foggy's jaw tightens and he takes in a deep, steady breath. “I do.”

From the way the Devil tilts his head, it's obvious he's waiting for something else. Foggy grits his teeth. “Thank you.”

“Now,” the Devil hums, his smile smug, “was that so hard?”

“You've no idea.”

The Devil closes the remaining distance between them and touches Foggy's chest with an end of the newspaper.

“We're on the same team, Foggy.” he says, voice low, as if sharing a secret. “When will you realize this?”

“No, we're not. You're a killer who claims he's a saint.”

“And the office you work for is deception clouded so deeply it's blurred into false truths.”

“We do give the city the truth. It's not my fault if you don't like what it's saying about you.”

The Devils gives a sharp laugh. “Don't act as if your precious newspaper is a the peak of morality. Your little column, along with the work of Mr. Urich and Miss Page is the only thing that is truthful in this filth and you know it. Don't go defending something you don't believe in.” The Devil leans in closer, tilting his head to the side. “Trust.” he adds, his breath hot against Foggy's mouth. Foggy leans back slightly.

“Don't you have a city to watch over? Or is that only part-time and your real job is annoying me?”

The Devil huffs out a laugh and licks his lower lip before pulling it back between his teeth. He starts walking away backwards, his mouth curving into a slow grin.

“One day you'll let me kiss you.”

Foggy snorts, but can't help the small smile that beings forming.

“Only in your dreams, buddy.”

\--

  
“You're freezing,” Foggy inhales sharply when a body presses up behind him. This should be cause for alarm, especially since it is nighttime and he is walking home alone. But that's also why he's not panicking. Who else would attach themselves to some stranger on the street without threatening them with something sharp and unpleasant?

Cold lips trace the curve of his ear and Foggy feels the man hum in the affirmative. He feels it through the fabric if his coat, the vibrations travelling down his spine. Which makes him wonder how hard the man must be humming for him to feel it through all his layers. Then he wonders if it's not just humming, but shivering.

At first Foggy feels bad, and he finds himself leaning back ever so slightly. Not enough that the Devil should notice Foggy's leaning into his touch. Just enough that maybe he'll warm up some. But then the Devil starts snuggling against him, his lips moving from his ear to his jaw...

“What are you doing?” Foggy asks, annoyed, as he wiggles out of the Devil's grip and turns to face him. He suppresses a gasp when he sees the mans face. There's an angry looking cut across his nose, curving down towards his upper lip, just missing it. Another across the top of his cheekbone. Around the wounds the skin is bright pink, but the cuts themselves are deep red, almost black.

His mouth is covered completely in dried blood. The contrast dramatic in comparison to the blueish-white the cold had made his skin. Foggy raises an arm with the intent to touch, but he stops himself. He also stops himself from asking whose blood is on his face, knowing he really doesn't want the answer. So instead, he takes a step back. The Devil's arms follow the movement, finger tips touching Foggy's sides. The touch saying more than Foggy wants to think about.

“Warming up.”

Foggy shakes his head and forces his eyes away from the mans mouth. “Okay, well, it's not my fault you choose to wear spandex literally everyday of your life. Invest in a coat and some boots. If not for your health then my sanity.”

“Does it genuinely upset you when I touch you?” The Devil pouts at him, once again directing Foggy's attention to the blood. He tugs on the bottom hem of Foggy's coat, like a child trying to get an adults attention.

The truthful answer is: no, Foggy doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind in the slightest. But he isn't about to disclose such information. So he says, “Yes.”

When the Devil sets his mouth in a thin line, Foggy knows that the man doesn't believe him. Which is fine, so long as he doesn't say anything about it.

“You know you shouldn't lie to me, Foggy.”

Dammit.

“And why not?”

“Because only bad people lie.”

“So you do lie then.”

The Devils tilts his head to both sides as if weighing the statement.“When necessary.”

“So you can lie, but I'm not allowed to.”

“Yes.”

Foggy narrows his eyes and shakes his head. He turns around and starts walking away, and tries not to groan when he hears footsteps following him.

“Does that upset you?”

“Uh, yeah. You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do.”

“I will if it's for your safety.”

Foggy stops. “So let me get this straight...lying to you hinders my safety. Are you threatening me?”

“No, but people will if you keep writing columns exposing Hell's Kitchen's underbelly.”

“Says the man who goes out every night and does just that.”

“Is it hypocritical? Yes. But I can protect myself, Foggy. I can handle it.”

“Oh so now I'm weak and defenceless, is that it? You follow me home because you think I can't handle myself?”

The Devil makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, his shoulders slumping. “Look, this conversation isn’t going how I wanted-”

“Yeah I bet it isn't.”

“- but, I'm not threatening you. I'm warning you. I can't protect you all the time. You and your friends need to know that there are consequences to writing these stories that you just can't handle.”

\--

“Laaaast Christmas / I gave you my heart / but the very next day / you gave it away...” Karen sings along with the radio from her spot on the couch, doing what Foggy assumes is dancing, though she's only wiggling in her spot with her arms moving up and around. Foggy smiles from his place in the kitchen where he's making them hot chocolates.

They published the article on Union Allied about a month ago, and ever since then things have been tense. Karen tells him that he's over exaggerating, but Foggy considers them lucky that they still have a job. And he thinks she does too, and just won't allow him to see her panic.

It wasn't that the article wasn't suppose to publish, because it was. It had gone through the necessary processes of editing and approving. Even undergoing re-editing to meet the approval requirements.

But just because their Chief saw an article, doesn't mean it was the article that had been published.

It was stupid move on their part. What they really should have done, was publish the approved piece and then said what they felt needed saying through different means. Like the Internet, Ben had suggested with an exasperated sigh.

Karen smiles when Foggy hands her a mug, but instead of taking a sip her expression turns serious.

“Here's to you raise a glass for everyone here's to them underneath that burning sun DO THEY KNOW IT'S CHRISTMAS TIME AT ALL?”

“If by 'them' you mean my neighbours, then yes, I think they do. Especially since you've been screaming Christmas songs for the past hour. It's amazing no one's complained yet.”

Karen wrinkles her nose and shakes her head at him mockingly. “Any other time of the year I think they would. But their Christmas spirit is keeping their mouths shut.”

“Christmas spirit should keep your mouth shut.”

Karen gives an exaggerated gasp, her eyebrows raising and her mouth forming an 'o' before saying, “Fuck you.” though it comes out more like a laugh, and the look on her face makes it almost impossible for Foggy not to crack up.

And just like at work, things between them are a bit tense. Even though they feel they made the right call, getting reamed out by their Chief like they were makes it hard to look other people in the eyes without feeling some sort of negative emotion. Which is why they're hanging out at Foggy's place tonight and not Josie's. To get their friendship back on the right track. Which is a very good thing, because Foggy is getting tired of the hesitation and awkwardness not being able to talk is creating.

They spend the next few hours watching movies and laughing, and when it gets late enough that Foggy declares her staying the night, it's when he's making up the spare bed that Karen says

I'm sorry

Foggy sighs, not really wanting to have this conversation, at least not this late as night. He turns and looks at Karen. Her expression is open worry, her bottom lip pulled back between her teeth and her arms crossed over her chest. She looks like she's expecting him to magically become angry and blame everything on her. Just the thought that she expects it makes Foggy's heart sink into his stomach. He really should have made more of an effort to tell her that he didn't blame her, that this was on both of them.

“It's not your fault.” and he means that. He understands wanting to pin the blame all on one person, because that would be easier. But this was something they both did. And the sooner they both understand that, the better off they'll be. “This is just the price for doing the right thing. And if having to cover a few local events and small weather tragedies is the price to pay, then I'll pay it happily.”

She responds with a small smile and walks over and pulls him into a hug.

\--

Karen ends up taking Ben's advice about putting up articles online.

She doesn't sign her name, leaving these open letters to organizations and businesses anonymous.

She waves off his concern with a smile and an offer of coffee.

Foggy worries anyway.

\--

“What, no.”

“Why not?”

“Do I really have to spell it out.”

“Yes.”

“I'm not stepping into an alleyway with you!”

“I promise you'll be safe.”

There is no face Foggy can make that would properly express what he is feeling. He and Karen spent the evening at the hospital, regaling stories of their latest exploits to Doris. Exaggerating parts and dragging things out; much to Ben's annoyance and embarrassment. Though Foggy knows that he secretly enjoyed every second of it, all because they made Doris smile and laugh. That is until they couldn't anymore, and when Ben had asked them with huge sadness to leave, they couldn't refuse. They said their goodbyes, and left on a sadder note than which they came.

He had walked Karen home. He was going to hail her a cab, but she had wanted to walk the streets and look at the houses all decorated for Christmas. With the Holiday only a couple weeks away, city workers had dressed up lampposts with garland and twinkling gold lights. They had even replaced several city flags with huge florescent snowflakes that lined down the avenues. Hell's Kitchen would never be know for its aesthetic appeal, but when the snow fell lightly like it had earlier that evening, and the gold lights gave the streets a soft glow, even Foggy could admit the city was beautiful.

It was on his own walk home that he was stopped by a familiar voice hiding in the shadows, beckoning him into the alley.

“No.”

“Please?” The Devil asks softly, stepping out in front of Foggy. What Foggy wants is to say no again, to shake his head and continue his walk home. But the use of please stops him. He's not so weak that a single word can make him crumble, but a man like the one in front of him using it makes him think again about his answer. Foggy considers him for a moment before nodding.

A hand wraps lightly around his wrist and he lets himself be pulled into the shadows and away from the rest of the world. Without wasting any time Foggy's back is gently pressed against the wall and the Devil covers him completely.

For a moment they stand like that, their faces close and bodies together and Foggy is secretly delighted in how comfortable their situation is. How...familiar the feeling is. Foggy's heart is beating fast, but he feels the calm he hasn't allowed himself to acknowledge before. But here, in this moment, one too tender to be anything else than what it is, Foggy can't deny it.

Then the Devil raises an arm above their heads, and curious, Foggy follows the movement. He lets out a startled laugh when he looks up and sees what the Devil is holding.

“Mistletoe.” Foggy doesn’t mean for it to come out as a whisper, but it does. Part of him is shocked, the other part isn't really surprised; the Devil is very persistent. But he's touched and flattered nonetheless.

The Devil smiles lazily, and lightly noses along Foggy's cheek. “Wouldn't want to break tradition now, would we?”

“If you've been wanting to kiss me this bad, then why haven't you?”

“Because I want you to want to kiss me, too. If you don't, even now, I won't. Traditions aside.”

Of course Foggy wants to. He has since he realized that the man is more than the names he's been given and the chaos he causes. But he wasn't going to let feelings like that cloud his judgement or use it to convince himself that the man isn't what they say he is. The Daily Bulletin may spread lies and play

off false facts as the truth, but when they warn the public of the Devil's wrath and violence; they're not wrong.

So, yes, he wants to kiss the man and hold him and even be with him if time allowed it. He just knows that once he does, there is no going back, and he doesn't know if he can do that to himself. But then again, Foggy was never very good at listening to himself.

He doesn't say anything, only leans forward and as their lips touch a scream pierces through the night causing Foggy to startle back and the Devil to cringe.

The Devil pulls back and lets out a string of curses that could rival Karen when she's angry, and though the moment is ruined completely, Foggy can't help but smile.

“It's not funny.”

“No, it's not. But I guess that means you'll have to try again.” The Devil raises his head at that, and Foggy tries his best to look where he assumes his eyes are.

“So no goodbye kiss before I go?”

“No,” Foggy says, shaking his head.

“No? Not even one, small, innocent, peck?” The Devil leans forward again, punctuating each word as he does. Foggy stops him with a hand on his chest. “Go. They need you now. They needed you thirty seconds ago.”

The Devil steps back with a sigh, but not before taking Foggy's hand and placing the small plant on his palm. He folds Foggy's fingers over it and leans down to place a kiss there.

He doesn't say anything as he goes, but Foggy knows that the kiss on his fingers is only the beginning.

\--

Karen slams the door to their office, the force rattling the door frame and making the people outside look over. She glares at them and pulls the string to the blinds, lowering them.

Foggy watches her, worried. Ben is sitting at his desk, seemingly unbothered.

The two of them once again just spent the better part of an hour being lectured on playing with half decks, and how they shouldn't actively go out looking for trouble with the bigger and badder names the city is known for.

Foggy isn't exactly sure how or why they got into trouble. But apparently, writing about people being evicted from their homes without any warning by some underlining power, is overstepping some sort of magical line the Bulletin has for its content. He won't lie, he isn't one hundred percent oblivious to the real intent of the story, he just didn't ask too many questions about it when Karen brought him several cases pertaining to the situation.

They were also told that if they really felt the need to drag criminals, that they should spend their efforts warning citizens of The Devil and how after a certain time they should stay in doors to ensure the safety of their families and themselves.

Because the thing the Bulletin needs more of, is articles about The Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Foggy could probably wallpaper his entire apartment without using the same headline twice. But people ate it up with relish. Foggy thinks most just enjoy the thrill of having a vigilante. Kind of like adults who spend their afternoon sitting in a circle and gossiping over tea about the slightly odd person in their neighbourhood. Excited at having someone to talk about, yet completely scandalized at said person's actions.

But if it sold newspapers, the Bulletin will continue to have articles written about The Devil until the man drops dead. And since the Devil is a stubborn sonofabitch, Foggy's guessing that won't be anytime soon.

“This is what happens when you try and take down the most powerful people in the city.” Ben says when Karen begins pacing. “They stop you.”

“Well someone has to!”

“And I agree with you,” Ben says, looking away from his computer and fixing a pointed look at Karen, “it's just not going to be you.”

Karen glares at Ben, directing all of her anger and frustration at him with a single look. But Ben doesn’t waver, matching her stare with understanding. After a moment Karen sighs, deflating a little, and it's with that, that Foggy knows that she knows Ben is right, but wishes he wasn't.

“Look Karen, I get it. I want them to go down just as much as you do. But it's no secret that half the office is being paid off. I'm surprised you haven’t been stopped sooner. So just grit your teeth and do as they say. Write about the Devil. At least until you have something more substantial.”

“But he's not the bad guy here.” Karen says, and with a frustrated huff she grabs her jacket off the rack and flings the door open, leaving without looking back.

\--

“I don't want to come off as narcissistic, but sometimes I do enjoy having my name in the paper.” The Devils says as Foggy rounds the corner. He pushes off the building he's leaning against and falls into step with Foggy.

Foggy huffs out a laugh. “What, want me to sign it for you?” he mocks, getting a smirk from the Devil.

“That's not the only thing you can do for me.” is his response and Foggy pulls his coat tighter around himself. It's been almost a week since the attempted kiss and ever since then Foggy has been doing what he can to avoid thinking about. He's decided that yes, he very much wants it to happen. But at the same time he's worried about what consequences such actions would bring.

The Devil tilts his head to the side, his mouth curved in a small frown. “You've never written about me before. Why now?”

Foggy shrugs. “Got in trouble for the other stuff we were writing and were told to put our efforts towards the real problem.” he says turning his head, smirking at the other man.

The Devil tilts his head back a little. “I'm not a problem.”

Foggy fixes him with an unbelieving look before shaking his head. “You're unbelievable.”

“Thank you.”

Foggy lets out a small huff of laughter. “Thought you'd be thrilled. After all, you told me we should stop before we got hurt.”

The Devil stops suddenly and reaches out to grab Foggy's shoulder, pulling him back. “I am glad they stopped you.” and even though the man covers his eyes, Foggy can almost feel the intensity of the stare the man is pinning him with. “I don't want you hurt.”

\--

“Hello, beautiful.”

Foggy jumps and nearly drops his mug to the ground with a curse. He whips around to see the Devil sitting in his window sill, legs dangling inside.

“Wait, what? How do you know where I live?” Foggy asks in a rush of confusion and slight spike of adrenaline though the answer is obvious. He doesn't want to think about how the Devil managed to open his locked window so quietly that he hadn't noticed.

The Devil ignores it. “Thought I should let you know that I found Miss Page at the docks again tonight. She's home now, safe. I saw to that. But I thought I asked you to keep her away from those places.”

Foggy shakes his head. “You know Karen's her own person. She can handle herself, and she can do whatever she wants, and...if that includes trying to take down the big guys, then that's up to her.” Foggy sighs, “But thank you for watching out for her.”

The Devil nods and they're both quiet for a moment before Foggy asks a little hesitantly, “You want some hot chocolate?”

The smile Foggy gets in response isn't like the ones he's use to. He's use to the slow, knowing ones. The ones that scream he knows everything and only entertains other peoples attempts at covering up their true thoughts and feelings. The ones that slice through bullshit and call people out with the slightest upturn of his lips. But this one, this is a small, shy smile and it relaxes Foggy just as easily as it takes his breath away.

“I'd like that, Foggy. Thank you.” The Devil says as he steps all the way into his apartment, closing the window behind him with a soft click.

All Foggy can do is nod as he turns around and walks back to his kitchen. He places his cup on the counter and pulls out a clean pot. He places it on a burner and turns around to open his fridge and grabs out the milk jug and heavy whipping cream. He puts it on the counter next to the stove and opens the smallest cabinet for coco powder and vanilla extract and sets to work.

“What are you doing?”

Foggy startles a little and looks over at the Devil, now leaning against the doorway.

“...Making hot chocolate?” Foggy says, a little unsure. He looks back at the stove just to be certain and nods a little when he sees that yes, he is in fact in the process of making hot chocolate.

“Yes, but you're using a pot and...” Foggy raises an eyebrow when the man leans forward slightly and sniffs the air, “Is that whipping cream?”

“Uh, yeah. It's just how my mom makes it, so you know...I make it this way, too.”

“Ahhh.” The Devil says with a slightly exaggerated nod.

“Yeah.” Foggy says a bit awkwardly as he continues working on his task. Doing this has suddenly become more difficult with an attentive audience. The Devil following his every move precisely, even with his eyes covered. But soon enough Foggy has worked his way to the end and is handing the man a giant red cup.

“Careful, it's hot.”

He gets a smile that tells him the Devil figured and he can't help but be a bit embarrassed by that. So instead of just standing there, Foggy turns around and begins cleaning up.

\--

“Hey you wanna get a few drinks?”

Karen scrunches up her nose and shakes her head. “Sorry, Fog, I can't. I got a...thing.”

“A thing?” Foggy raises an eyebrow. “An article thing, you mean.”

Karen nods her head. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. Been there, done that.”

“Rain check?”

Foggy smiles.“Absolutely.”

\--

“You're shivering.”

“Yeah, well, it's cold outside.”

“You forgot your gloves.”

Foggy sighs. “Yeah, I did.”

“Silly thing to forget.”

“Says the man who is wearing paper thin spandex.”

The Devils laughs, bumping Foggy's shoulders.

“I have something that will help.”

“What, you have another pair of gloves on you?”

“No.” and Foggy feels it. Leather sliding against his palm and slipping between his fingers. He feels his breath catch at the innocent action. He bites his lip and feels himself fall that much more.

\--

“How's the article coming?” Foggy asks when he gets into work and finds Karen already there, working away. She has two empty coffee cups from the office kitchenette and a full one too close to her computer for comfort.

“Well.” she says without looking up and without slowing her typing. She's focused on the computer screen. The brightness highlighting her face and making the dark circles and redness of her eyes stand out. Usually Foggy would tally that all down to too many late hours staring at a computer screen. But this isn't the first time he's found Karen like this. Too many mornings he's come in an found her wearing the same clothes she'd been in the day before or tired to the point where he thought she might drop right then and there.

And then there was her attitude. Not that Karen isn't allowed to be upset or angry or stressed to the point of annoyance and frustration. It was just that Foggy knew there was a reason to all of it. One she wasn't sharing with anyone, and while Foggy understands distance and privacy and giving people a chance to figure things out for themselves; he just wants to help his friend.

“Hey, are you okay?” Foggy asks, walking forward. He places a comforting hand on her shoulder, but takes a step back when she rips her shoulder out of his grip and turns in her chair to glare at him. “I said it's going well, Foggy.”

“Okay, okay.” He says as he steps away from her. She watches him for another second before sighing.

“Sorry, Foggy, I just...” she trails off and drops her head into her hands and shakes her head.

“No, it's my fault. I shouldn't have pushed.”

Karen nods, raises her head, and rests her chin on her knuckles.

“Shouldn't have pushed.” she repeats. The look in her eyes faraway.

“Shouldn’t have pushed.”

\--

“I'm worried.” Foggy says, breaking their comfortable silence. The Devil turns his head and squeezes his hand once.

“It's about Karen. I think she's in trouble.”

“Karen is a capable woman. You've said it yourself.”

“Yeah, but that doesn't mean I won't worry. Or that she can handle this. Whatever this is.”

“Nothing will happen to her, Foggy. She's safe.”

“But what if she's not? What if she's not and something happens to her?”

\--

“How about this?”

Foggy can't help but let out a loud laugh as Karen holds up the ugliest Christmas sweater he has ever seen in his life.

“What? You don't like it?” She asks with a huge smile, looking down at it and smoothing out the fabric. She looks alive tonight. Running around from store to store and showing Foggy the weirdest things she can find as gift suggestions. Laughing and smiling. Her joy is infectious and with Christmas not even a week away, the spirit is set on full blast throughout all New York.

“I don't think Ben would appreciate that. I don't even think he'd wear it. Ever.”

Karen clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she places the sweater back on the rack.

“Not even once? That's harsh.”

“Yeah, well that sweater's a disgrace to the earth.”

The mall is packed. People bustling about, loud and unapologetic as they bump into others in their

search for anything last minute. When you aren't part of the last-minute panic of large crowds, there is something oddly appealing about it all. Christmas music being drowned out by chatter and yelling, the smell of peppermint and chocolate from the shops, families running around with large bags all while tying to keep track of everyone and everything.

They wait their turn in line for drinks, and when they finally get their orders in tall, red, snowflake covered cups Karen links her arm through his, and they make their way out the the mall.

The sun has set hours ago but Hell's Kitchen is still on the go, crowding the streets and sidewalks as they go to and from their destinations. Stores are open later and the snow is falling lightly enough that it's almost unnoticeable.

They find a bench to sit on and talk quietly; watching people and coming up with stories for them.

But Foggy can't hold it in forever. He's too worried to tip toe around it, all because he doesn't want to upset her. So when a lull in the conversation comes up, he says, “I know you don't want to talk about it...but you know you can talk to me. Right?”

Karen looks off down the street. After a moment she nods her head.

“Yeah, I know. I just - ” she takes in a deep breath and lets out a shaky one, “I just don't know what to think or how I even feel right now. I wouldn't know where to begin.”

Foggy nods his head even though he doesn't really understand what she's talking about. It's vague, and judging by the way her voice lost all life in it after he spoke, her situation is deeper than he first thought. Which worries him all the more. He knows he can't push her or even force her to tell him. That she will when she's either ready or feels like telling him. But he can't help but want to grab her shoulders and shake her until she tells him everything. Until she confesses and asks for the help he knows she needs but won't ask for.

\--

“Lovely evening we're having.” says the man standing next to Foggy at a red cross walk. Foggy turns and smiles out of politeness and nods in agreement. The man seems to take this as encouragement and continues talking.

“It's nice when it's calm out like this. Snowfall is beautiful, but too much can take away from the scene.”

Foggy nods. “I get what you mean. It's nice being able to look up when you're walking.” He offers another smile.

The man gives a laugh, keeping his eyes on Foggy. There's a glint in his eyes that could be mistaken for happiness. Some people have it, that natural glow and life in their eyes no matter the situation. And more so around the Holidays. But the way this man has fixed his stare on him makes Foggy's brain stop, then panic, all in the same second. It must show on his face because the mans smile grows and Foggy feels his body go into panic mode. The sensation slowly moves from his head, clouding up his arms and surrounding his heart until the pressure causes it to slowly pounding faster and faster until it effects his breathing.

He starts backing up but stops when he hears someone approaching up behind him. A snap brings his attention to the hands of the man in front of him – a man who is now holding a blade in his grip.

He lifts it up and points at him with it. “You're Foggy Nelson, aren't you? Work for the Bulletin newspaper?”

All Foggy can do is nod. “I haven't written any articles on anyone since November. We were called off.”

“Yes, well, apparently someone didn't get the memo.”

Foggy shakes his head. “Nothing has gone through. The Bulletin isn't publishing anything concerning you. Or anyone, for that matter.”

“Not officially, no.”

With those words Foggy can feel his body cool slowly with fear. The chill spotting in random spots and connecting together until Foggy has to suppress a shiver. Karen. Her names rings in his mind and as he pictures her, he sees her as she was the last time he saw her. Laughing as she swings her long coat on, leaving with the promise she'll see him tomorrow. And now the image of mirth and pink cheeks is being replaced by a pictures Foggy never wanted to imagine.

Foggy can't stop it, a thought that hits home and sets his skin on fire, he closes his eyes and waits.

Foggy opens his eyes when he hears a shout and something drop behind him and he can't stop the sharp gasp as someone presses right up behind him.

Hands squeeze at his hips roughly, and “Looks like someone's being naughty.” is purred in his ear. He lets out a shaky breath of relief and not even a second later he's being pushed backwards and away from the other men around them. He watches for a moment as the Devil moves swiftly through each man. Landing punches and dodging them. A manic smile on his lips as he taunts and dances around them, and in that moment, Foggy can't help but find him beautiful.

He takes another step backwards but stops when the heel of his foot hits something. He looks down and his stomach rolls when he sees one of the men looking up at him with lifeless eyes.

He steps over the man, still looking down at him with wide eyes, as if he'll magically come back to life. He doesn't look away until he's far enough that he can still see what's going on, but isn't in the thick of it anymore. He spares the Devil another glance, the man now pressed up against another mans back, holding his hand in between his hands. He says something, and then twists and lets go. The man dropping to the ground like a bag of bricks.

With shaky hands Foggy fumbles for his phone. When he pulls it out he hits one and presses the phone to his ear. With each ring he feels his arms and legs become heavy with fear. Panic grip him over and over again until he thinks he'll be sick. When he gets Karen's voice mail, he feels his eye fill with tears as she cheerfully tells him she can't make it to the phone, and to leave a message.

“No, no, no, no -” he says, over an over as he redials again and again until he can't bring himself to anymore, the tears in his eyes, the headache pounding his in head, and the reality of this situation making it difficult to.

A scream catches his attention, and when he looks over it's as if someone turned the sound on. He hears groaning and the sound of something snapping. He flinches and hugs himself, unable to tear his eyes away as the Devil slams a man against the wall, pinning him there.

He says something, something Foggy can't hear, but it makes the man struggle even harder, and it makes the Devil laugh with glee.

Foggy watches in horror as the Devil grabs hold of the mans skull, holding it firmly between his hands, and places his thumbs over the mans eyes. The man thrashes in his grip but it's obvious any and all attempts are pointless. When the Devil applies pressure and the man screams echo along the alleyway walls, Foggy's last thought before he blacks out is of how oddly beautiful blood looks against snow.

\--

Foggy wakes up to the sound of humming. He coughs and a hand pats his back a few times before switching to rubbing slow circles. He lying down, face pressed into what he thinks his a leg and part of a torso. He also knows that he's outside, his body shivering and skin tight from the cold.

The Devil has propped himself up against a building, cradling Foggy in his lap as the man sleeps.

“I'm sorry you had to see that.”

He blinks a few times before moving his head to look up in the direction of the voice.

“I never wanted you to see me do that. Or anything like that.”

“What did you do?” Foggy asks, his voice raspy. He coughs again.

“I killed those men. Because they touched you.”

And with those words Foggy's mind is flooded with memories. Of the men at the cross walk. The knife and their twisted smiles illuminated by the gold of Christmas lights. Of the Devil appearing and handling them in a way Foggy only ever thought happened in movies.

Foggy can feel his breathing pick up as his mind reconstructs a clear and vivid picture of the Devil gouging the mans eyes out with his own fingers. He shivers violently.

Then he's hit again and this thought jerks his body and he tries to sit up, but the Devil doesn't allow it. Shushing him until he stops trying, falling limp against the mans side once more. “What about Karen?” He asks, and once again grotesque pictures pop up in his head and he squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to banish them.

The Devil pulls him closer and continues rubbing his hand along Foggy's back and arms.

“She's safe and with Mr. Urich. I was with her before I got to you.”

Foggy closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath, relieved. “Thank you.”

They stay that way for god knows how long. Foggy shivering and the Devil sitting still with the exception of his hands that move over Foggy's body, offering various touches of comfort. After a while, the need to get warm outweighs the need for comfort and Foggy makes his way to stand. With the Devil's assistance, Foggy finds himself standing on his feet, chest to chest with the other man.

“Are you sure you're all right?”

“Are you?” Foggy asks, and now that he can properly see the man he can take in his injuries. A split lip and several little cuts along his cheeks and throat. The fabric of his shirt is ripped at his side and chest, long cuts into the skin that are angry and red.

The Devil cracks a small smile. “I'm fine.”

“What are you talking about? It looks like someone ran you over. Several times.”

“Oh, Mr. Nelson. It's so good to know you care.”

“Of course I care about you. Wasn't exactly trying to hide it.”

“Yes, you were.”

“Okay a little, yeah.” Foggy huffs out a laugh. His smile fades quickly when he takes in the set line of the Devil's mouth and the tension in his shoulders. “What is it?”

“I'm not a good man. I don't need to be told that because I know it. And I want to deserve you, Foggy, but the truth is that there is nothing I can do that would make me even half the man that does.” Foggy feels his heart pick up, slamming against his chest. He doesn't like what the man is saying or the way he is. Like he's thought about this a lot. Like he's thought out exactly what to say and has practised over and over again to make himself sound so sure and right. So that Foggy wouldn't be able to argue.

And really, there is nothing Foggy can say that would make any of it false. Because he may have fallen for this man, but he's not wrong. Foggy can feel his throat close up and tears prick behind his eyes. He doesn't want to cry, but when he blinks the tears roll down his face and it's as if a seal has been broken. No words are said when the Devil grabs Foggy and brings him into his chest, arms circling around him, holding him tightly in place.

The feeling sits in his chest and spreads. Tremors rack his body and the intensity of his crying eventually gives him a headache. One that starts in the front of his head and gradually moves back until it's pounding throughout every corner. He's out of breath, panting his cries into the fabric of the mans shirt, clutching on with shaking fingers.

He let's Foggy cry for what feels like ages, placing kisses on top of his head and forehead. He doesn't speak, doesn't offer words of condolence or kindness. He just simply holds Foggy until all he can do is sniffle against his chest.

Foggy is still sniffling when the Devil pulls back slightly. He places a finger under Foggy's chin and slowly lifts his head up. Foggy's eyes are blood shot and puffy and there are still tears clouding his sight, and it's through blurry vision that he sees the man lean down and press his lips softly to his. The Devil's lips are chapped and rough from the cold and not enough care, but he presses his lips against Foggy's with the utmost care that part of Foggy doesn’t register the texture.

It's kept simple and chaste, just a simple press and little movement and it's over before it's really begun, but it's the most meaningful kiss Foggy has ever received in his life. The tenderness of it all does nothing to stop his shaking.

He pulls away and Foggy feels the air change. Like something is now different, but isn't quite sure what it is. Or if it's even between them.

“Merry Christmas, Foggy.” The Devil whispers in his ear, and before Foggy can open his eyes or return the sentiment, the Devil is gone.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed that! I know there wasn't a lot in terms of Dark!Matt. And I know it wasn't the best in terms of thought out, but I do have the next two weeks off and I do plan on writing at least another one during that time to make up for it.
> 
> But for real though...what would Matt do in the winter? Like? ??? The Devil isn't scary in a puffy jacket and snow pants...just saying.
> 
> Not beta read.
> 
> http://waynesgrayson.tumblr.com/


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